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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787961">Interlude XI</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective'>AnnetheCatDetective</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interludes [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Murdoch Mysteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Just a little bit), Enemas, Feeding Kink, Local Men Continue To Be Shocked Every Time They Find Each Other Completely Irresistible, M/M, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Service Top</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Their last night at Jack's place before the twin disasters of finding a corpse in an alley on date night and meeting Edwards. </p><p>Jack continues to try to work out what his kinks even mean, and this is complicated by the fact that his biggest kink of all is Llewellyn Watts existing, and he keeps finding new things sexy which were not sexy before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Walker/Llewellyn Watts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interludes [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interlude XI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    “I <em> need </em> you.” Jack groans, drawing Llewellyn into his arms. Dinner is finished, the dishes washed, and he’s been wanting him all evening. There’s always the way he eats, yes, but it’s been so much more than that somehow. Tonight it’s been… he hardly knows. </p><p> </p><p>    It’s just been building.</p><p> </p><p>    “You have me.” Llewellyn promises so readily, and his head drops back and his tie and collar are gone and his throat is <em> there</em>, and he makes the most obliging little sounds when it’s kissed. Like Jack really could just do anything he liked with him…</p><p> </p><p>    “Do I? For whatever I please?” He smiles, lips still pressed to Llewellyn’s throat-- there at the place where smooth skin meets stubbled, where he can feel the change in texture. Soft, warm… but rough, too, if he slides his mouth up. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yes.” </p><p> </p><p>    No hesitation. Jack swallows, his hold tightening. “I want to be in you, to be able to keep you quiet with a kiss… do you think you could? Do you think you could keep quiet for me, even if I’m very, very good to you?”</p><p> </p><p>    He’s kept him quiet that way before-- and, if he has to stop kissing him for any reason, he knows to keep a hand over his mouth, at home. A move Llewellyn had <em> not </em> protested… Jack’s thought several times about the feverish kisses to his palm that had followed the muffling of his moans.</p><p> </p><p>    They can’t jump straight to what he ultimately wants, but Jack finds he doesn’t mind. In the past, they’ve done other things, between dinner and bed-- bed for this particular act, at least-- it was cards and coffee, at Aldous’, and then here at home before, they’d read to each other while digesting. But there really isn’t any reason why they couldn’t begin an extended foreplay now. </p><p> </p><p>    “Well-- how good were you going to be?” Llewellyn draws back, meeting his eye.</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know, how early do you have to be at work tomorrow?” He grins. “I could be good to you two, three times.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Tonight</em>?” His voice goes up a bit, and so too do his eyebrows. They stay where they are, when Jack merely nods. “I won’t be able to sit down.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm, but you don’t really care about sitting down, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m not sure I’ll be able to <em> walk</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>    Jack laughs, leans up to kiss him. “Once, with me inside you, then. But… maybe also…” He bites his lip and gives Llewellyn a quick, questioning once-over. </p><p> </p><p>    “Also?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I might…” He rubs idly at Llewellyn’s chest, working his way very slowly down his front. “I might just bring you to completion some other way, first? Then we’ll get our breath back, and… prepare you. For the main event?”</p><p> </p><p>    He plucks at a button, about halfway down Llewellyn’s shirt, searching out his face for any sign on how to proceed. Watches the bob of his throat, watches the question resolve itself in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>    “You have me.” Llewellyn says, his voice low, and sweet. Jack can hardly imagine a voice sounding sweeter-- or any sweeter words to hear in it.</p><p> </p><p>    “Llewellyn.” He keeps his own tone serious, but warm. “Would you really let me do as I please with you? Whatever I please? And-- you know, even if you say yes, if I do anything to bother you-- I… I <em> adore </em> the control you grant me, to take care of you as I see fit. Nothing could please me more than just the trust you place in me. And I-- well… I’ve always known it was my vice, to be too controlling. That you don’t think it’s a problem-- that everything wrong with me, you like? I just mean… I appreciate how willing you are, and how sweet you are. And I mean to treat that control as the precious gift that it is. But I would never forgive myself if I hurt you by it.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You won’t hurt me.” Llewellyn’s smile is gentle. His hands are warm where they wrap around Jack’s arms. “I-- I like it. I don’t think it’s wrong-- that there’s something wrong with you. I… Outside, I’m… <em> aware</em>, of too much. And I feel responsible for so much. And you… It feels good, to let you take over, here, and to let go of it all, and… to not worry about knowing what’s right because you’ll show me, and to not worry about what to do, because you’ll tell me. And to not worry about the world, because it’s outside and we’re here where it’s safe.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Good.” Jack leans up to kiss his nose. “Outside, you keep me safe-- and if we’re out in the world and there’s ever anything dangerous, then I’ll do what you tell me to to stay safe. When you walk me home, when we’re out, when you’re busy being aware of the world, whatever it is you worry about keeping me safe from, I am more than happy to let you. And then when we come home, here, together… or to any other place that’s safe, with only our friends, then I can take over and you can relax. I can take care of you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’d like that.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I just… I want to make sure you know, just because you tell me I can do whatever I want to to you, you-- Well… Do you remember when we talked about the handcuffs?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You said you didn’t want to-- not really.” Llewellyn frowns, and he draws back slightly, his shoulders come up. He doesn’t take his hands from Jack’s arms, or pull away, only draws up into himself. </p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t.” He promises. “I just mean… it’s something you know you would hate. And… if there’s ever anything else that you realize you wouldn’t like, or if we start to do something and you don’t like it, the way you don’t like the thought of us using handcuffs… we won’t. You can stop me at any time. Just… just tell me it’s like the handcuffs and I’ll stop. Just tell me no, to anything, and I promise you I will not be upset. I’ll be upset if I learn too late I’ve hurt you. All right?”</p><p> </p><p>    “All right.” He relaxes again. “I’ll be sure to tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t want you to feel like you have to… Not just if it frightens you, anything you don’t care for. I don’t own you, I haven’t got a right to you just because what you’ve learned of making love has come from me. I don’t for a moment believe I do, and I don’t want you to think that way.”</p><p> </p><p>    “All right.” Llewellyn leans in to kiss Jack, the corner of his lips. </p><p> </p><p>    “It’s… a loan. Every time you give yourself to me, it’s a loan, and it’s conditional on my treating you the way you deserve. So I need to know that I’m doing my duty by you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You always have done.” He blushes. </p><p> </p><p>    “So. I want to take control with you, and I want to show you how good I can make you feel… and how good it can be when you give yourself over to me. But you can ask me for what you want, and you can tell me what you don’t. I just want to be good to you… and I am going to be good to you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Twice, you said.” His face goes even redder, his grin bashful. “Or three times.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Three times, before I let you leave me again. Easy.” Jack finds an answering grin of his own-- though it’s far from bashful. “With my mouth on you, with my cock buried deep in you, and… well, we’ll see how things go. I will bring you to completion again… and again. If you give yourself to me tonight, I will not see you unrewarded.”</p><p>   </p><p>    “Oh-- oh, <em> Jack</em>…”</p><p> </p><p>    The feeling of power is something incredible, having Llewellyn swoon in his arms-- he pushes the guilt aside. Isn’t he allowed to love this? Isn’t he only doing his best by his sweet lamb?</p><p> </p><p>    He cups Llewellyn’s face in his hands, drawing him in for a slow kiss, the heat building. It’s the feel, yes, it’s their mouths, but it’s also the way Llewellyn hangs onto him, it’s the sound of the kiss and of the little breathy sighs and needy whines he teases forth and swallows up. It’s the first stirrings of real, physical arousal as they hit, that heat still on low. </p><p> </p><p>    Not for long.</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm… beloved, lamb… let me undress you.”</p><p> </p><p>    It’s… more order than question, and the part of him that feels guilty for ordering is quickly shut down by the part of him that thrills to Llewellyn’s easy obedience. He releases his hold on Jack’s wrists, where he’d been keeping Jack’s hands at his face, he drops his arms loose at his sides-- stands straight once Jack isn’t pulling him down to kiss him. And his eyes sparkle, and he is all giddiness, all light, as he does his best not to squirm while Jack unbuttons his shirt. Moves with him to slip out of it. Trousers follow, underthings, Llewellyn is perfectly compliant.</p><p> </p><p>    “Good boy.” Jack says, from where he’s still kneeling before him-- he’d meant it to tease, he thinks, except it comes out a little too hoarse and a little too wanting, and he can <em> see </em> the twitch of Llewellyn’s cock as he reacts. “Oh-- you… you like that?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Apparently so.” Llewellyn rubs at the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>    “You like it when I call you a good boy?” And this time he purrs the words out on purpose, can’t hold back his grin at the way Llewellyn shivers, the little whimper of need, the momentary upwards bob of his cock. “Well… then it’s a good thing, isn’t it, that you’re always so well-behaved for me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Jack</em>…” He swallows hard. “Please…”</p><p> </p><p>    “No. On the bed.” He pulls back, rising to his feet again. “I want to make you go weak in the knees, and if I do a very good job, you’ll be safer lying down.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You might have me a little… lightheaded.” Llewellyn admits. </p><p> </p><p>    “Only a little? I’d better get to work. Go on… lie down on your back. I’ll be right there.”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn scrambles to obey, as Jack strips out of his own clothing. He comes to join him, one knee on the bed at Llewellyn’s side, so he can look down at him, so that he can trail a hand down from throat past his chest to his belly.</p><p> </p><p>    He forgets all thoughts of downward progress, and his plans for what he might do with his mouth, when his hand reaches Llewellyn’s belly. Still full, or still digesting at any rate, not that one could tell from the outside. But he’d watched him swallow every bite, a not inconsiderable amount of sauteed vegetables, mashed potatoes, and duck breast. He’d fed him some of those bites. Listened to each gustatory groan, felt <em> something </em> when Llewellyn had protested a third helping of potatoes by insisting he couldn’t eat another bite. </p><p> </p><p>    He’d felt an urge he could hardly describe-- an urge he didn’t dare describe, so far beyond what they’ve done-- to make love to Llewellyn’s stomach. First, by satisfying his hunger in the most literal sense, perhaps over-satisfying, and then… just to touch. To massage him as he digests, to spread his hand wide over as much of the flat of Llewellyn’s belly as he can span. To imagine he can feel… he doesn’t know what. To lavish attention on the outside as well as the inside.</p><p> </p><p>    Despite his earlier plea, Llewellyn doesn’t rush him now-- he seems perfectly content to be rubbed thus. He stretches out with a sigh, gazes up adoringly. Jack glances away from where his hand rests, to see the way Llewellyn’s gaze traces down to his chest and lingers there. </p><p> </p><p>    He’s a smoother man than Llewellyn is, he supposes-- most of his body hair is pale and fine. But he makes up for it in muscle. Other men have expressed admiration for the set of his shoulders, for the swell of his biceps. It always felt good to be recognized, even if he so often wasn’t interested in pursuing the flirtation-- often the attention had come from friends of Owen’s and wasn’t meant to lead anywhere, or it had come from men he just couldn’t summon up a passion for, men who lacked those qualities he always seemed to seek out. And of course there was the difficulty of expectation-- men who saw the muscle before they saw the softness might not look for him to be a homemaker, but they weren’t looking for <em> Jack</em>, either. They either wanted a housewife or a brute, and Jack couldn’t be happy as either.</p><p> </p><p>    But… Llewellyn saw him first for himself-- a man with a business, and a desire for discretion, and a secret to keep. And a loss to grapple with. He’d kept seeing just Jack. He’d fit each new thing into Jack instead of warping Jack to fit whatever discovery he might make. He looks at the Jack who wants to fuss over and feed him, and the Jack who could easily lift him up and carry him from the front door to the bed, and sees them for the same man. Not two sides of the same man, even, but the same man. </p><p> </p><p>    He supposes once upon a time, Owen must have seen only Jack, but growing up muddled that, losing and refinding each other changed it. He’d assumed changes in him, or he’d forgotten how they once fit around each other. Which is not to say he was cruel or uncompromising with him, he was exactingly fair with some things. He liked taking turns, with some things. He didn’t push Jack into the same boxes it felt like other men did, it just… wasn’t the same, once they went from friends to lovers. And parts of Jack still went unseen. Unrecognized. Llewellyn recognizes him.</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn accepts that he may be a homemaker, and not a housewife. Butch, but not brutish. Llewellyn loves him for so many things, it seems… for his skills in the kitchen, for his opinions on books, for his honesty, for his care… and he likes his body, and Jack still feels a thrill with every reminder that Llewellyn likes his body. The muscle Jack is proud of having earned with day upon day of hard work, those things which nature had endowed him with which he’s always considered perfectly serviceable to say the least… and those things which nature had endowed him with which he had never considered a great draw, such as the freckles. </p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn looks at him now with an undisguised and unrepentant lust… but a slow-simmering one. Whatever urgency he’d felt when Jack had been on his knees-- or had it been less about that and more about being called good?-- has cooled. There’s no pleading, no whining, only a warm look, a slow lick of the lips, an outstretched hand and cool fingertips that trail down Jack’s abdomen.</p><p> </p><p>    “What are you thinking?” Jack asks him, both hands now kneading gently at Llewellyn’s stomach. Soft, but <em> flat</em>. He’s the sort of man there’s just no getting anything to stick to, Jack supposes-- he’s certainly worked hard enough to feed him. But… he has a healthy frame, and where he does carry muscle, he carries it well. And if here and there he’s a little too thin, well… those places bear their own waifish charm. Or, they relight the spark of Jack’s desire to see him fed, which is close enough to the same for him.</p><p> </p><p>    “Just how good it’s going to be… when you take me tonight.” He sighs again. “How I hope you-- ah…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes?” He smiles, hands sliding lower. He scritches one thumbnail gently through the thickening trail of hair leading him lower still. Wonders if he could keep one hand rubbing his stomach while the other worked at his cock. </p><p> </p><p>    “How I hope you… I hope you know that you can-- If you wanted-- to be… Not to be too slow or too gentle with me. Now that I have some experience.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You would like something a little more vigorous?” Jack chuckles, leaning down to kiss him. “Well, you’re the one who’s got to keep quiet when I give it to you. But… if you think you can be a very… good… boy…”</p><p> </p><p>    And there’s that whine, high at the back of the throat, his eyes rolling back behind fluttering lashes. Perhaps it might be best to ease into this, and yet each reaction is so much, is so intoxicating. </p><p> </p><p>    “Keep yourself quiet.” He reminds him, gently. “Give me a little shove if I’m too much. I just want to make you feel as good as you deserve. Is that all right?”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn nods, wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulders when he leans in once more to kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>    “Spread your legs.” Jack says, without taking his lips from Llewellyn’s. As soon as Llewellyn begins to, he’s up and moving to lie with his own between them. The delicious heat of being pressed so intimately together… He kisses his way down, he take his time. He knows all the places where Llewellyn is sensitive. </p><p> </p><p>    His underarms aren’t ticklish, but there’s a spot a couple of inches down along where the pectorals attach to the ribcage, and if he starts nuzzling just a little north of that spot, then Llewellyn starts to anticipate, starts to react to the feel of his breath. He has to bite his fist against the loops Jack traces with the tip of his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>    And his nipples… Jack knows just how sensitive those are. Already taut by the time he reaches the first, and he sucks, slow and gentle, until Llewellyn gives his shoulder a hesitant shove.</p><p> </p><p>    “Too much?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Just there. Not-- not too much of everything.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Good.” He just lips at his chest hair, tugging gently between soothing kisses. “I’m having a lot of fun taking care of you. You really are… the most delicious man.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well… maybe-- maybe you could do the same, on the other side. A little bit.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mmm…” Jack agrees, making his way there slowly. He tries to give the left nipple equal treatment. Llewellyn likes things symmetrical. Except, he supposes, for Jack’s freckles, which he remembers… he remembers what he’d said, about the pattern of them being unreplicable. </p><p> </p><p>    It had felt special, to be told some part of him couldn’t be duplicated. And that that part of him was… distracting, to a handsome police detective. That any of him was distracting-- even if he hadn’t been so distracting as to keep Llewellyn from doing his job. And he’s learned since just how much of him Llewellyn finds distracting, and how best to distract him. </p><p> </p><p>    Which he perhaps oughtn’t take advantage of too often, but he does love to see this man flustered and fascinated. And he can’t always help it, after all, given how much enjoyment Llewellyn gets out of watching him make sausage, of all things. Well… given the general shape, it’s not exactly difficult to figure that one out, Jack’s not exactly a naif. The whole job does involve wrapping his hand around something phallic, a little gentle slide forward and something of a twisting motion in order to guide everything and get each individual link made, it does not take a detective to figure out where a mind might wander. But he thinks most people are too put off by the raw meat and even the casing itself, to think very sexy thoughts about it. Llewellyn’s not the first beau to drop by his place of business, but he’s the first to stop and stare at the way he makes sausage with just as much naked interest as he does when Jack flexes a little muscle to get something heavy hanging. </p><p> </p><p>    When Llewellyn gives him another careful half-shove, he gives up his attention to the left nipple, and he considers going back to the right side just for another brief tease, but he reins the impulse in, drawing back to admire his work so far instead. Llewellyn, panting, hand stuffed in his mouth. The flush already spread down the column of his throat… The rise and fall of his chest, the gleam where his skin is still wet from being licked or sucked at, the firm, dark peaks of both nipples standing out against the relative pale of his torso. The patch of hair concentrated at the center of his chest… and if Jack pushes himself up to look at more of him, there’s the way his abdomen contracts in little twitches, now and then, and there’s more hair, thick and dark, leading down from just above his navel, the thatch of curls at the base of his cock, the curve of it and how hard he is… the glistening moisture beading and just ready to drip down onto his belly.</p><p> </p><p>    “Beautiful.” Jack whispers, transfixed. He wants-- no, he <em> needs </em>-- to see that.</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn extracts his hand from his mouth, only to be distracted by a line of saliva connecting and snapping.</p><p> </p><p>    “Ick.” He winces, seems to contemplate whether or not he should wipe his hand on the bedsheets. </p><p> </p><p>    “You’re going to get a lot messier than that.” Jack laughs. “You didn’t say ‘ick’ about <em> my </em> spit.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s different.”</p><p> </p><p>    Jack grabs for his hand, and presses a kiss to where he can see the indentations left by Llewellyn’s teeth. “Still beautiful.”</p><p> </p><p>    He swallows, and doesn’t argue, and Jack lingers a moment on his eyes-- darker than ever, pupils eclipsing the warm brown. Like good earth and strong coffee and the czech glass beads on the lampshade in his office, which he’d bought on a whim the day the office first became <em> his</em>, because it was so empty then and he’d wanted it to be beautiful. Despite the nature of his work, he’d decided his office would be beautiful. Beautiful in a masculine sort of way, which is also how he’d describe Llewellyn.</p><p> </p><p>    And then, he lets his gaze drift back down the landscape of Llewellyn’s body, to his waiting cock. He scoots down a little, to be able to kiss a line down his abdomen, to reach his soft, flat stomach. <em> Warm</em>. Warm under his lips, and he nuzzles at him with a groan. Could he, another night, feed him enough to see-- to get down at eye level and detect some slight swell? </p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t even know why he finds he wants to so badly, it seems unnecessary. Yes, his… little fascination is about more than the lips and the tongue and he moans of pleasure and the moment of feeding him, it’s about knowing he’s <em> nourished</em>. And… maybe, sometimes, it’s about control. He doesn’t know what to feel about that. Even with permission to exert control sometimes, like this, it’s difficult to work everything he feels out. He thinks he could spend a whole night on only that, though. On kneading at, kissing his belly. On putting aside all thoughts of what pleasure he might take for himself, beyond the pleasure of <em> this</em>. That’s the part he doesn’t understand, that it could so easily eclipse his other needs. That having already fed him, having already cupped his jaw to feel him chew and having already kissed his throat to feel him swallow, and having already pushed bites past his lips until he’d said he couldn’t eat another, he still wants more out of this experience. That he wants to see him not merely satisfied, but full to bursting. That it would be… that it would be not because it was demanded <em> of </em> him to be caretaker, homemaker, but because <em> he </em> might demand it, he might demand his lamb sit and eat because <em> he’s </em> decided to make himself responsible. Because this is his sphere and he is in charge of it.</p><p> </p><p>    He lays one last fervent kiss to Llewellyn’s belly, wet and hot, before lifting his head to take in the sight of him again. Biting down on his fist again, body heaving-- the panting breaths and the spasms from being just… so sensitive to the right touch. </p><p> </p><p>    Funny, how he likes to be held hard, patted at firmly, weighed on, how he shrugs off the injury that left the scar on his arm as if it was nothing-- and perhaps next to the emotional strain it wasn’t-- but a little light touch can reduce him to this. How he can be all at extremes.</p><p> </p><p>    Funny, how Jack loves it. </p><p> </p><p>    “Please… tell me… you’re done doing that…” Llewellyn gasps, but he has a loose smile, warm and lovely.</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, for now…” He grins, licking his lips. “God, you’re incredible.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I haven’t done much.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I can’t stop thinking about you. About the sounds you make-- the sounds I wish you could make… and-- at dinner. The things I find myself wanting to do with you… it’s all so much more than what I used to fantasize about.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sit you down… sit in your lap. Feed you. I-- I want to… control what you eat.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not new.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well… I hadn’t thought of it like that.” He laughs. He supposes he sets the menu, unless he asks Llewellyn to make a request. But he hasn’t sat in his lap before to feed him, not the way he’s begun to imagine it. Straddling him to keep him in place-- he doesn’t need to trap him, he doesn’t want it to be because Llewellyn would be… would be trying to move away from him otherwise, he doesn’t like the idea of it being a <em> struggle</em>. Llewellyn <em> doesn’t </em> struggle against him, that’s not them. Just… having him pinned without that. Just something about holding him down just to do it. And… “And how much. I-- I’d control how much.”</p><p> </p><p>    An anxious frown flickers across Llewellyn’s face. “What-- as in, less?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No.”</p><p> </p><p>    “As in more?” His eyebrows climb. </p><p> </p><p>    “It’s only a thought--”</p><p> </p><p>    “You could.” And he nods, eager. “Another time?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Another time.” Jack sighs, or he laughs, or he almost does one or the other. A breath leaves him, at least, relief and adoration flood him. “Every time I think I’m bound to frighten you off, you only go and prove how you’re my perfect match… You would let me?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>    Jack bites his lip, drags a single fingertip down from the center of Llewellyn’s chest to just short of his navel. His eyes continue downward even as his hand stops short.</p><p> </p><p>    “But then, that’s you all over, isn’t it, lamb? Perfect.” He coos, watches the <em> drip </em> of slick, clear fluid, to start to pool on his belly, where every now and then the muscles still twitch from the thorough loving and teasing received. All he needs is just a little praise… In general, he thinks it’s all he needs, but in bed? He’s filing this information away for future use, even if perhaps it’s wisest to be sparing, to ease into something that seems to hold such sway over the both of them as this… this feeling they seem to stumble into together. But how could he deny Llewellyn praise, after all? “My good boy… you always give me your all. And I see you, I do… I see how hard you work and how brave you are and just… how… good you always try to be, just for me.”</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t think either of them could bear holding out any longer. He’s down with his mouth on Llewellyn as fast as he can manage, one hand stroking everything he hasn’t got in his mouth yet, the other working to rub slow circles over his stomach-- which, yes, smears a little bit of a mess around, he doesn’t care. Or, he likes it, a bit, though it’s not quite so visually exciting as messes he’s made of Llewellyn in the past. He can’t help it, he loves the look of him after. Nights they spend apart, if his libido comes knocking, he thinks about how Llewellyn had looked, the very first time he’d tried to use his mouth, for Jack… sitting loose-limbed on Jack’s bed, and Jack’s release dripping down his cheek, smeared just so near the corner of his mouth… </p><p> </p><p>    He’d called that image to mind more than any other, prior to the first time he’d been inside him, and since then he’s had a wealth of things to think back to, like Llewellyn’s uncontrollable twitching leg and wanton moaning as he’d spent the longest time on fingering him… like the way he’d wanted more in the morning. Like his trust and his willingness and his stretched hole dripping with Jack’s release, he’d found himself blushing even as he’d spread him open to admire it. </p><p> </p><p>    He still couldn’t say why he loves the mess of it so much. Maybe just because Llewellyn allows it, because he never says ‘don’t you dare get it in my hair’, because he never grabs for a handkerchief straight away like he’s been soiled. Maybe because he likes having a claim on him, and it is that. Because he’s the only man to make such a mess of him. Because he’s the only man permitted to.</p><p> </p><p>    There’s no teasing now. Only all of Jack’s focus on giving Llewellyn everything he could ask for. Only the joy and satisfaction of knowing Llewellyn would gladly give over to him anything he asked, and it wouldn’t be him giving something <em> up</em>, it wouldn’t be him agreeing to something he didn’t want, wholeheartedly. Knowing he wants to be Jack’s…</p><p> </p><p>    Jack finds the right angle, where he can let Llewellyn move his hips a little, where he can relax enough to take him in all the way without gagging. The muffled noises are quite the reward for it, the shock and the pleasure and the desperation and the relief… He swallows around him and keeps swallowing, until Llewellyn has spilled his last, until he’s tugging Jack off with a trembling hand tight in his hair, and a weak whine. </p><p> </p><p><em>     Sensitive</em>. So sensitive, and so beautiful. Jack takes him all in, the flush that extends down his chest now and the light sheen of sweat, and the way he fights to get his breath back, how he squirms at being cleaned up-- at least it’s an easy job to get him clean. </p><p> </p><p>    “That’s me not yet half done with you.” Jack reminds him, grinning at the little moan. He rests a firm hand over Llewellyn’s stomach, no ticklish teasing this time out. “How do you feel?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Unh…”</p><p> </p><p>    “That good?”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn nods.</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, once you can get your legs under you, I want you to go and start getting ready for me. You can call me in for anything you’d like the help with, but the first step’s all you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm. Suppose there are still <em> some </em> things you can’t do for me.” He snorts.</p><p> </p><p>    “A very few.”</p><p> </p><p>    There’s a pause, and Llewellyn’s face is already as red as it’s likely to get, but Jack can still see the shift of feeling over it, the embarrassment that comes on.</p><p> </p><p>    “I-- I like… when you-- When you got me ready, before?”</p><p> </p><p>    “So did I.” Jack assures him, giving his belly a brief rub. “I’ll like doing it again.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, I… I don’t just mean, with your fingers. Although I did.”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s very difficult to miss how much you liked my fingers.” He chuckles, shifting to be able to come up and kiss him. “What else did you like?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Just all of it.” He won’t meet Jack’s eyes, but that’s all right. He can’t, always… or he likes to look into them and then away again until he can get his bearings, often. Especially if there’s emotions at play. He doesn’t always turn away, he rarely turns away from him unless he’s feeling far too much. But often he focuses on his lips rather than his eyes, or-- Jack suspects-- on his freckles. This time, though, he turns away, he bites his lip.</p><p> </p><p>    “I like all of it, too, lamb.” He touches Llewellyn’s chin, but doesn’t turn him. Scratches through the scruff when Llewellyn doesn’t turn himself, and feels a little of his tension lessen. </p><p> </p><p>    “It’s embarrassing, though, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well… it…” Jack hesitates. “Yes. But you don’t have to be, with me. It… I like to take care of you. I want to take care of you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Even-- even--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes. Every part of it.” He kisses his cheek. “Whatever you can bear from me. Call me in for as much or as little as you want me for.”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn nods, and meets his eyes just for a moment, flashes that smile. Jack’s <em> favorite </em> smile. A hint of boyish bashfulness, but even more of the self-assurance of knowing he’s loved, and <em> sweet</em>. A smile that’s sometimes playful and other times more obliging, but he considers it the same smile either way, only tweaked gently to one end or the other. It’s the smile that seems to hold the most of Llewellyn’s real self in it. </p><p> </p><p>    “Sweet little lamb.” He steals a proper kiss this time, before rolling over to release him. “Go on, now. I’ll come when you call me. Get you a little cleaned up between rounds. Have a little time to breathe.”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn drags himself out of bed, though he lingers a moment, eyes Jack expectantly over his shoulder. Jack’s already said ‘go on’, he’s not meant to give more explicit instructions, is he? And then he sees Llewellyn’s gaze flicker down to his waiting backside and back up and he chuckles, reaching across to give him a light tap.</p><p> </p><p>    “Get.” He says, basking in the mix of adoration and <em> smugness </em> that Llewellyn radiates, before he heads to the bath.</p><p> </p><p>    He knows people who do that, or who’ve done that-- actual spanking, putting a man over your knee like a recalcitrant schoolboy. He’s not sure how much is earnestly painful and how much is theatre, with a thing like that, but he doesn’t think that it’s what Llewellyn wants-- he’s always too well-behaved for that. He knows it’s not what <em> he </em> wants, moreover. It’s just the single gentle swat. A little bit of guidance, at most a mild warning, the way he does to urge him into moving on mornings when he’s disinclined to rise, or in passing as they move around each other perhaps. Or… once, when they were kissing, one good smack before he’d grabbed on, and things went from slow and easy to hot and heavy in an instant… but it’s just the one at a time, that he thinks works for the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>    They have their own things.</p><p> </p><p>    Of the friends he’s known who do… <em> things</em>, he doesn’t know of anyone else who shares their proclivities, but he doesn’t know that no one else does. It’s not the sort of thing that gets talked about quite as openly, he imagines. He knows there’s a club for it, but he can’t imagine having the courage to go. The normal club is always getting raided as it is, one where half the men are already in handcuffs seems a dangerous place to try and have a good time. He’s not sure if Llewellyn would be comfortable. But it’s about playing with control and that’s what they’re doing, and… </p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t know. He likes the thought that someone out there would understand, would see what he sees in the way Llewellyn changes, when he lays his head in Jack’s lap, when he kneels at his feet sometimes and the world falls from his shoulders, and he lets himself be petted at and watched over, and fed.</p><p> </p><p>    He hears the flush of the toilet, and presently, the shower, only briefly, and then Llewellyn does call him in.</p><p> </p><p>    He’s already gotten the enema kit out from the cabinet, toys anxiously with the hose.</p><p> </p><p>    “Ready for a hand?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Would you?”</p><p> </p><p>    Jack cups his cheek, draws him in to be kissed. “You know I’m here to take care of you… I <em> love </em> to take care of you.”</p><p> </p><p>    He starts the water running to get it warmed up, wets and soaps a cloth while he’s at it. Given how not-wet most of Llewellyn is, he assumes he’d only used the shower’s bidet nozzle. Conscientious of him-- and less of a shock before than after the act.</p><p> </p><p>    Jack swipes at his belly first, cleaning up the bit of tackiness, before he guides him to turn, spreads him open so that he can give him a little once-over with the soapy cloth before he gets the hose. Even with Llewellyn having cleaned himself up beforehand, it’s a part of the process-- it’s an intimacy, to be able to do this for someone else, and then to kiss the base of his spine and whisper to him to relax, to get the end of the hose greased and inserted. </p><p> </p><p>    It had been easy, in Aldous’ guest bath. It’s a lot trickier here, to get Llewellyn into a position that works. It’s a cramped room, he can’t simply fold himself over the side of a bathtub, ass in the air. And they have fewer towels to work with, but Jack had made sure to have enough, to be able to fold one on the floor, to cushion him. The cage of the shower makes for a handy place to attach the bag, so that Jack doesn’t have to simply hold it up the entire time, that’s one thing he can say for his bath. And to be fair, he is an even shorter distance from the toilet here, not a great length to travel in order to let it all go. That first time he’d had to help him back his way into the water closet, frantic at the idea of accidentally loosing what he held too soon, and then he’d allowed him his privacy again, and he supposes he could have simply moved him over the drain of the tub but the idea had hardly seemed right somehow. </p><p> </p><p>    They could do this somewhere more comfortable, once Llewellyn feels confident walking a bit of a distance while holding it in. For now, they’re on the floor of a very small bath, between the shower and the toilet, because it’s the easiest place to suspend the bag and the easiest distance, and… and because the last time, they’d gotten through it so quickly that the smallness of the room hadn’t had time to become too unpleasant.</p><p> </p><p>    “All right, lamb? You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Ready.” Llewellyn nods-- though he still lets out a soft ‘ooh’ when the warm water reaches him. </p><p> </p><p>    Jack kneels down behind him, reaches around and rubs his belly. He can <em> feel </em> the shift, as he fills, he hadn’t done before… The first time, he’d had to hold the bag, of course, and it was awkward, Llewellyn’s first time. Well, not the first time he’d ever had an enema, but the first time it wasn’t medical in purpose, the first time he’d allowed Jack quite so intimate a view. And the second time, they’d had to navigate trying to do it here in the much less amenable space of his own bath, which was its own sort of awkward. But this time, they know what they’re doing, and he hadn’t realized…</p><p> </p><p>    He hadn’t realized that this would be <em> exciting</em>. It’s always been a means to an end-- he’s never been aroused all the times he’s done it for himself, times he was going to receive. At most there might be a little mental arousal, knowing that this was the prelude to lovemaking, but he’d never thought there was anything sexual about this.</p><p> </p><p>    Now, though… Llewellyn’s belly swelling under his hand-- well, down into his hand. The warmth of his skin, the definite un-flatness now, the growing <em> firmness</em>. It may not be exactly as he’d fantasized before, when he’d been thinking of feeding him, but it’s so much like…</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh god…” He moans, kissing his way up Llewellyn’s spine, pressing in a little more just to <em> feel</em>. His arousal had ebbed, in the time since he’d finished sucking Llewellyn off, and pushed the thought of himself to the side, but it’s coming back now. “Oh, god, I want to be in you. You-- you have no idea how…”</p><p> </p><p>    Oh. Or maybe he does. His hand brushes against Llewellyn’s hardening cock, during his explorations, his gentle, roaming kneading.</p><p> </p><p>    There’s a whimper-- when he leans around to try and check in on him, his face is turned away.</p><p> </p><p>    “Lamb? How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>   “I don’t know. Am-- am I supposed to… like it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes? I-- I like it, if that helps. I mean, I like doing this, for you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I didn’t, before. I mean I didn’t dislike it, I suppose, but it--” Another whimper. “It’s different, now.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Is it because of how I’m touching you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t know… I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Or just because you’re used to it… you aren’t so nervous and you can enjoy how it feels?” He kisses his back again. “You like being full… maybe that’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “All of it. You, touching me, and… the heaviness.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm… all right. I like it. You, full. I-- I just like you <em> full</em>, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>    Maybe it is strange. So it’s strange. Maybe it’s fine if they’re strange, so long as they’re the same kind of strange. Or… interlocking kinds of strange. Llewellyn likes the heaviness of it, Jack likes him full, they both like sharing touch… and maybe the vulnerability of it. The trust. He remembers what it was to need him for the very first time. He remembers what it was to realize the enormity of Llewellyn’s trust in him. </p><p> </p><p>    “Up, on your knees. Can you?” He urges. “Let me look at you.”</p><p> </p><p>    He moves very carefully, to raise himself up and turn around on his knees, without losing the end of the hose. Jack cups his cheek first, feels the radiating heat of his blush, takes in every nuance of his expression. There is embarrassment, yes, and pleasure. A fading concentration, now that he’s positioned and everything remains where it ought.</p><p> </p><p>    He lets his attention drift down, to where he can <em> see </em> the slight bulge now, and the angle of half-hard cock. He lets himself brush against it again, just a little, on his way towards kneading at Llewellyn’s belly again. </p><p> </p><p>    “Oh…” He places his own hand near Jack’s, blinking down at himself. “You can… <em> tell</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>    “How odd…”</p><p> </p><p>    “How do you feel?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I never… held it, like this?” He licks his lips, eyes darting to and away from Jack’s face. “It’s different. A lot of things feel different. Perhaps it’s me, that’s different. I-- am changed, and changing. But change is an inevitable part of being human, and-- perhaps what matters is that I am content with the man I have changed into. And I think that I am. That’s how I feel.”</p><p> </p><p>    More philosophical, than Jack had expected. But then, that’s Llewellyn… Jack kisses him, his cheeks, his nose. </p><p> </p><p>    “If the man you change into would ever prefer to get it over with, that’s all right, too.” He promises. “You don’t have to want something every time, just because you liked it, and I liked it. But… thank you, for liking it now, with me. I-- even if we don’t like it every time, the same way? Tonight, I do.”</p><p> </p><p>    It’s not dramatic, the shape of the water that fills him. Someone less intimately acquainted with every plane and curve of Llewellyn’s body might not be quite so aware of the change, but Jack flatters himself he knows Llewellyn’s body as no one else does. And this little change is somehow so significant.</p><p> </p><p>    It’s not even from feeding him, it shouldn’t affect him the same way, and yet it <em> fascinates </em> him. And it fascinates him, to see the way Llewellyn reacts to being handled, the way he fights the urge to squirm, the way his cock hardens, the way he bites his lip and his lashes flutter and he moans at the shifting of the weight of the water inside him with each squeeze. </p><p> </p><p>    “You like this?”</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s…” His head jerks in a sharp nod. “Yes, but-- I’d rather have you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, enough teasing?”</p><p> </p><p>    Another nod. “I’d like the main event, please.”</p><p> </p><p>    Jack snorts, and kisses him again. “I’ll go and get the bed ready-- you can take it from here?”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn nods-- though Jack still helps him to his feet, still helps him a little before leaving him to his privacy. There are limits, he thinks, to the joys of vulnerability. Or things that they might do to each other in times of real need, but which hold no appeal in times such as this. There are things which might lead to some sense of endearment if done for an ailing lover in need of care, which would not be arousing done for a well one.</p><p> </p><p>    He takes the towel with him, and arranges everything, and when Llewellyn returns to the bed, Jack guides him down. There, on his back, a pillow to help angle his hips. He wraps his legs around Jack’s waist the moment he’s in him, he wraps his arms around Jack’s shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>    “Is this right, lamb?” He rolls his hips, slides in deeper. “Is this what you need?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, <em> Jack</em>.” He nods. “You are. Always.”</p><p> </p><p>    And Jack’s flying on that, how much more could he ask for in all the world but that, but this?</p><p> </p><p>    He’ll give him what he needs again in the morning. Just a quick one before lets him go, after they’ve both had some sleep, some time to recover, but for now, he remembers what Llewellyn had asked him for-- that he not treat him too gently. </p><p> </p><p>    Every roll of his hips ends with a snap forward, every thrust is deliberate and every thrust hits home. He has to clap his own hand over Llewellyn’s mouth, because Llewellyn won’t let go of <em> him</em>, and then their eyes meet and there’s a laugh dancing in Llewellyn’s eyes that Jack can only answer with a playful grin, can only answer by bringing his nose in to touch Llewellyn’s nose, can only answer with all of the love in the world.</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than in this moment, tangled up deep together, nose to nose and grinning like a loon as Llewellyn presses fervent and sloppy kisses to his palm.</p><p> </p><p>    “I want to keep you in my bed forever.” He groans. “I never want you to go.”</p><p> </p><p>    Llewellyn’s legs tighten around him, a heel digs into his backside, another kiss as he nuzzles up into him. All to say that he never wants to leave. </p><p> </p><p>    “You make me feel incredible-- you make me feel as if I could do anything and there’s nothing I want that I couldn’t have… And the only thing I want is you.” He continues. Llewellyn shudders, close to completion, moans into his hand. “You make me believe nothing bad could ever happen, not really. Because you’d be here to make it all all right again. My beautiful lamb, you make the world right… you came into my life to take every ugly thing and make it all all right for me… and every day, I-- every day, if I can only dream of you, I-- <em> ohh</em>, Llewellyn, Llewellyn…”</p><p> </p><p>    He takes his hand from Llewellyn’s mouth, fits his own to it before too much noise can escape him, drinks deep of his kisses, and he gets his newly-freed hand down between their bodies, but before he can get it wrapped around Llewellyn’s cock, he’s found his completion without. Jack doesn’t take much more to join him.</p><p> </p><p>    He eases out, gazes down at the man beneath him-- loose-limbed now and spread on his bed, his eyes glazed over with pleasure and brimming with warmth and love. The little punch-drunk grin he sometimes gets at times like this, the bitten lip, the flush and sheen to his skin and the way his curls have gone wild…</p><p><br/>    He is achingly, deliriously <em> happy</em>, and it’s not because of the sex-- though it had been fantastic-- and it’s not because of the control-- though it had been a gift-- it’s just because of <em> Llewellyn</em>, and how much being with him feels like living in a kinder world.</p>
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